


Skinship

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 09:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14590131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: The application of Titan-Oil Hand Cream and the intimacy that follows.





	Skinship

**Author's Note:**

> i had some random thoughts about how Brighid would use her cosmetics if her hands are too hot for them

It’s rather late when Mòrag returns to the inn. Brighid, still awake and mulling over her journal, comments on this, but she doesn’t get much in response other than a vague smile as Mòrag begins to undo the clasps and gears of her uniform.

“You don’t usually break your self-imposed curfew,” Brighid says, already moving across the room to help Mòrag out of her uniform. “Did you find anything interesting in the market?”

“Something like that.” Mòrag lets Brighid take the armor pieces. She hands her hat off to her and neatly drapes her coat over a chair. “Just your favorite hand cream.”

“Oh!”

Brighid smiles, holding the hat close to her chest, as Mòrag draws the small crystal bottle from her pouch. Her elation alone is enough make Mòrag forget about the weariness in her sore muscles and the lack of sleep pounding at the back of her eyes.

A young female Nopon had been _rather keen_ on purchasing what happened to be the last bottle of Titan-Oil Hand Cream in stock. Mòrag supposes she doesn’t need to regale Brighid with that harrowing tale of how she spent the better part of the evening trying to outbid the furious Nopon for it. What would a Nopon even _do_ with hand cream? Can they even use it on their fur and… feathers?

Well, whatever. Brighid sets the hat aside to take the bottle from Mòrag, the corners of her eyes crinkling. Something in Mòrag’s chest flutters.

“Would you apply some for me now, Lady Mòrag?”

Mòrag blinks. “Now?”

“Ah— if you wanted to turn in for the night, I won’t stop you.”

“No, no, that’s quite alright. Allow me…”

Brighid is rolling the bottle between her fingers, warming it, as she watches Mòrag remove her gloves and push her sleeves up. Lamenting over the inconvenience of having her hands constantly ablaze, too hot to properly handle delicate cosmetics, had never been an issue simply because… because of Mòrag. She’d always been considerate like that.

Mòrag offers her palms out and Brighid obligingly pours some of that hand cream onto them. She steps closer as Mòrag rubs her hands together– they’re soft, they’ve always been soft in spite of all the combat they go through daily. The hand cream is to thank for that.

She starts at Brighid’s shoulders, gently smoothing circles over her skin, then hides her face against Brighid’s sternum as her hands move around her upper arms then over her back. Brighid doesn’t dare move, as if there’s any risk of fracturing the moment, the only sounds their synchronized breathing and the smooth noises of skin rubbing against skin.

“You hardly even need the creams, frankly,” Mòrag murmurs. “Your skin is always astoundingly… perfect.”

“I could say the same for yours.”

“I’m only human. There’s more upkeep required.”

“Mmh, what a shame that is.”

But it’s not really a shame, because it leads to Mòrag using Brighid’s favorite hand creams in her stead in moments like this. More like, it’s a win-win for both of them for reasons that don’t need to be said out loud. Mòrag continues to stroke whatever bare skin she can find and Brighid rests her own hands, too hot and too inhuman to use the creams herself, upon Mòrag’s waist.

She wishes she could return the favor. She really does.

As if reading her thoughts, Mòrag pauses and slightly leans back to look at her.

“I’m fine with applying my own cosmetics myself.”

Brighid lightly places her hands on the sides of her face, and Mòrag leans her cheek against one of them.

“If I could extinguish the flames, even for a short moment…”

She quickly silences Brighid with a firm kiss to her palm.

“I wholeheartedly enjoy your touches as they are, Brighid.”

Even if they’re not of soft and smooth _skin_ like Mòrag’s are. Brighid quietly huffs and Mòrag takes more of that Titan-Oil Hand Cream to rub onto Brighid’s shoulders. Her arms go still as Brighid reaches up to remove her neckpiece, then the rest of her dress, and Mòrag’s face is all but unreadable except for the very obvious blush of red crawling up her neck as Brighid drops them to the floor.

“I’ll do my best to reciprocate yours, then.”

Mòrag’s expression breaks. It’s an odd amalgamation of surprise, fluster, and carefully controlled giddiness as Brighid deftly removes the rest of her uniform and kisses her, leaving trails of burning touches up her body. Suddenly remembering what they’d been doing in the first place, Mòrag snatches up the tiny bottle as she caresses Brighid’s lower back.

But that probably doesn't matter much anymore. She just... wants to touch, and to be touched. That alone is more than enough. Brighid's hands are moving beneath her pants along her hips and Mòrag is still feeling the warmth of her back, her hand moving lower still. 

“You probably won’t get much sleep tonight,” Brighid says, nipping lightly at her ear.

Mòrag stammers out, “That’s fine.” And they stumble along towards the bed together.


End file.
